


Sassenach

by Fitzy_Hearts



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Forced Marriage, Heavy Angst, Love, Outlander AU, Slow Burn, Smut, Technical Cheating, Will add more if I continue - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzy_Hearts/pseuds/Fitzy_Hearts
Summary: In 1946 just after World War 2; Jemma Simmons has travelled to another time through a mysterious rock. Leaving her fiancé behind and finding herself in the 1700s. All seems lost but will a dashing young Scotsman sweep her off her feet and lead Jemma on an adventure filled with love and understanding.Outlander AUHIATUS ATM - FORMULATING THE REST OF THE STORY
Relationships: Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz & Ophelia Sarkissian, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons, Will Daniels/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21





	1. Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Im still in school and this is my first ever fic and is Unbeta'd. If this flops and doesn't do well I probably won't continue it if that happens but here goes. I hope I have put up the necessary trigger warnings but I I haven't please let me know. This chapter has rape/non-con elements and suggestive language. There may be mild violence.

Falling. 

That’s the only word Jemma could think of to describe what it felt like. An incessant falling without the confounds of gravity keeping her on solid ground. It is a funny thing to consider when you acknowledge that one moment she was standing within the stone circle of Craigh Na Dun- Next she found herself on her back facing the sky, situated in front of the stone she has merely touched out of curiosity. 

A touch. A single connection of Jemma’s opal skin and the furrow of the stone sent Jemma into an array of unprecedented feelings surrounding her body. 

Out of the eight stones encircling her, this one was the biggest and of the darkest shade of black. She knew the moment her eyes set upon it that she felt an ominous feeling swirling in her gut. A strange buzzing sound filled her ears, acting almost like a beacon- calling her to it. She submitted. She walked towards the rock, forgetting about the real reason why she trekked up this hill. She gave into her inherent curious mind that is bound with Science. She had to feel the surface of the rock and investigate whether it’s tar like colour would be reflected in its texture. Little did she know that a single touch could change her life forever. 

Jemma Simmons and her fiancé William Daniels were on vacation to Inverness. Separated by the War- this was their time for reconnection after so many years apart. Jemma had enlisted in the VAD; which was helped by her knowledge in the medical field and her love for biochemistry and botany. Her work was valued as she served her term from 1939 through to 1945, doing her part for the War effort. Will was a flying sergeant who was commended for his excellent aviation skills and was rejoiced to find his sweetheart alive and well after the war was eventually over and Germany was finally defeated. 

Separated for so long, took its toll on the young couple, creating the need for this short holiday in the Scottish Highlands before they marry in Jemma’s home of Sheffield. The time spent together acts as a pre-honeymoon before marriage; reestablishing the connection they had long ago. There time was spent exploring Inverness, taking time to visit the Culloden moor, which in April 1746 was home to the tragic defeat of the arguably last Scottish Army- The Jacobites. A collection of proud Scottish men, who struggled to try and restore the Stuart Dynasty with the belief of ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’ holding his true name as a Catholic king. They were defeated by British troops in less than an hour. In fact, Will had told Jemma the stories of his Ancestor - Jack ‘Black‘ Daniels who was a minor English captain of the Redcoat army. He was stationed in Inverness, inevitably fighting and dying in the Battle of Culloden. 

Nearing the end of their short time away, Jemma snuck away in the early morning to the hill of Craigh Na Dun- a mystical place of myth and folklore. This strange circle of standing stone, was rumoured to be peppered with deep blue flowers, surrounding a sunset orange centre. Curious of its rare botanic value, Jemma knew she had to ease her curious mind and investigate. Trudging up the hill in nothing but a light white dress and a tartan blanket needed for blocking the winter chill; she already had a variety of possible guesses at what this plant could be. It could be in the Gentianaceae, the Polemoniaceae, the Boraginaceae. That was at the forefront of her mind with ‘forget-me-nots’ swirling around her head. 

However, the thought of plants ceased from her mind, as she laid eyes on the stones and the buzzing started to swarm her ears. Then she was gone. 

*****

Opening her eyes slightly, Jemma peaked through her hooded eyelids to look at where her gravity-less fall had landed her. It was light, the sun was hiding, shy behind the clouds as Jemma wrapped her head in her hands and sat up. Fortunately, the buzzing was gone but she had a pounding headache, throbbing between her temples that did not feel like it was going away anytime soon. She had to return to will, no doubt he was worrying about her by now. 

Finally, bringing herself to stand, Jemma looked around. At her feet, were the strange blue flowers she had come all this way for. Not wanting to waste a journey, she plucked three and turned to walk back down the hill to her car. 

But as she reached the bottom of the hill. Something was amiss. Her car and the gate she had passed to get here was gone. Nowhere in sight. Gone. 

Feeling panicked at the thought of her car being stolen and being stranded she looked around and started to breathe deeply. Panicked turned to confusion as Jemma wondered how the gate could be gone. Surely, she wasn’t unconscious for long. She felt like nowhere looked familiar but the green grass and the ambient buzz of the Scottish countryside being the only source of comfort. 

Needing to move her limbs, Jemma wondered in any direction- eventually reaching a thick forest.  
Ploughing through the trees, Jemma felt the need to hasten her steps, she didn’t know where she was and her bare arms and legs were being exposed to the chill and scratches from low lying twigs and thickets. 

Usually Jemma’s scientific mind would help in situations like this, focusing on how to navigate to where you want to go based on natural resources to guide your way. But sometimes, even a rational head like Jemma can give way to panic. That is the rational way of explaining things would come to meet an obstacle when Jemma finally spotted another soul.

Then another 

And then more. 

Running through the forest just ahead of her was a line of men. Immediately, Jemma’s heart lightened as she thought that she could finally figure out how to get some help. But then she noticed what they were wearing. Dressed in some severely outdated clothing, their attire consisted of a scarlet tunic which flashed memories of recognition. The military garment for the British empire. 

Jemma had many interests of the educational capacity but history had always been a particular favourite of hers. Her own historical knowledge did not compare to her biochemical and botanical but she knew she was not wrong. Those were redcoat uniforms. 

Following the red fleeting figures was the booming sound of gunfire which resonated throughout her entire body. When confronted with the impossible, the rational mind will grope for the logical. When faced with this situation, thoughts immediately pointed to her stumbling upon the filming of a historical drama of some sort. But need for logical reasoning, could not account for the fact that these men seem to be firing live ammunition. In which Jemma, narrowly avoided as more of these soldiers appeared in her surroundings and noticed her presence. 

Sensing the danger she was in, Jemma ran in the direction with the no people; sprinting and snagging her dress on the thick and sharp under bush of the forest floor. Eventually losing her footing, Jemma found herself catapulted down a steep hill, ultimately ending in a heap near the end of a fallen tree at its base. When she had regained her senses, she realised she was stretched under a particularly large thicket of leaves and bushes. Feeling like she was out of sight of the mysterious and definitely dangerous men, she cradled herself into the very most under edge of it and assessed her wounds.

Her tumble down the hill was not without injury, as she found her legs scraped up to an unbelievable amount and muddied. She noticed a nasty gash, on her arm which was quickly pooling blood down to her elbow. Pain was shooting through her body, but none compared to the incessant throbbing which had now returned to her head. Seemingly forgotten in the excitement of her previous endeavour to escape. She could feel the warm wet feeling, sticking to her scalp and travelling down her temple. 

So consumed with categorising the extent of her injuries she didn’t notice the man stealthily making her way towards her. Then suddenly, Jemma found herself dragged out from her hiding spot and pulled roughly into the arms of a tall man, sporting the familiar Red tunic. 

Not catching a glimpse of his face, Jemma struggled and fought with all her might, elbowing and punching in any direction and into any body part in a feeble attempt to escape the clutches of her captor. 

When finally, a fortunate punch in the groin, caused the man to loosen his grip and Jemma saw her chance to wriggle free. When she was out of his hands, Jemma turned around, ready to propose her fighting stance. 

But when she saw the identity of the man, in all sense, her body came to a complete halt. Her limbs stopped, her breathing stopped, her mind came to a grinding stand still as she stared at the face of her fiancé. Torn between relief and confusion, A million thoughts swam through her head. What is he doing here? Why is he wearing that strange uniform? Why did he grab her like that? Why did he look so uncaring. No feeling In his eyes and almost like there is simultaneously a million people in his gaze and not a single soul. 

“Will?! What the devil are you doing?” 

On closer inspection, Jemma came to the conclusion that this isn’t the man she cared for. Taking into account his different, longer, more peculiar hair- manipulated into a low ponytail. Hairs have escaped to frame his face, which is painted with splattered red and grime- evidence that he has been a participant in the battle which has scattered throughout the forest. However, Jemma is yet to put faces to the seemingly invisible enemy. Because surely they weren’t firing at nothing. Still now, she can hear the gunfire ring through the trees so her guess, she assumes, is correct there is more danger around her. Finally she noticed the man’s look of confusion. His bewilderment indicates what she suspects...... he doesn’t know who she is. His face is devoid of any recognition or affection she knew Will held for her. 

“........You’re not Will” 

“No Madame, I am not”, he agreed.

Needing to know answers, Jemma dared ask, “Then, who in the bloody hell are you?” 

Surely this was not some relative of Will, with many years together Jemma was almost certain that she knew of all of Will’s family- however distant they may be. The likeness between the two of them is uncanny and Jemma in her practical application was almost positive that she would have heard of him. So Jemma was uncertain of what answer she wanted and what she expected in this unusual situation. 

“I may ask you the same, Madame and certainly with much more justification as I was the one to receive an unwanted blow”, he stated rather forcefully. 

As the words left his mouth, Jemma noticed the way his eyes roved over her body from her head all the way down to her toes and felt uncomfortable. Shen realised his visual exploration was not out of curiosity but almost lust. He took a step forward and then he spoke again, 

“I am captain Jack Daniels of His Majesty’s 8th dragoon’s......at your service”

Jemma felt like she couldn’t breathe. There is surely no way. That name sounds all too familiar as the one to be described as “Jack Black Daniels…..Maveth''- also known as Will’s ancestor. Lost in shock and confusion, Jemma sways on her feet but manages to catch herself and finally bring herself to look at the familiar face again. But what she found there, was not a comforting expression. His eyes bore into her and his tongue slipped over his lips in a slimy manner. Noticing the look in his eyes, she took a hesitant step backward. He caught onto this, and locked her gaze- almost daring her to move. Which is why she did just that. She ran.  
Pushing off from her standing position, she turned and sprinted. However, nobody could account for the unsuitable running attire, of soft leather pumps and a thin white dress which no doubt hindered her running capabilities and allowed for him to catch up. She could tell he was behind her, hearing the heavy clanging of his accompanying gun which is married to his body. He eventually reached her just as she was coming to a dead end. A stone wall, 4 meters high blanketed with moss, halted her escape and allowed her to fall back into his hands. 

He cornered her up against the wall, and brought out a knife. A threat. 

Jemma did what she thought she could do and tell a lie. 

“My husband is very near and if I don’t return to his side in ten minutes he will come looking for me” 

“Your husband” he replied. “Pray tell, what is his name?” 

Jemma immediately froze up. She couldn’t possibly tell him. How can she say ‘Will Daniels’ and not expect that knife to slice her throat. She will have to tell another lie. No matter what has happened and where she is, she couldn’t lead anyone to Will. She will have to remain as silent as possible.

Impatient with her silence Jack Black, grabbed her hair and pulled it. Hard. Bringing the knife closer to her throat. Jemma was a survivor and not content with dying. She has to say something to ease him off her.

“William.”

Frustrated he replied, “William, William what?”

“Simmons... He a teacher” 

“Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mrs Will Simmons the teacher’s wife. You must think me a fool. You expect me to believe a married woman is prancing around alone in a forest in nothing but her shift.” He then yanked her hair again. Harder. “Now, you are to tell me exactly who you are and why you are here” 

Jemma struggled in a last attempt to shrug him off, pushing at his chest. 

“Madame!, I am to advise you that my patience is not infinite”

“Get off me you Bastard” 

“Well, well, well, the speech of a lady and the language of a whore……I’ll take the whore” He then roughly scaled his hand up her thigh. 

Jemma closed her eyes, willing him gone and unable to look at this evil version of the man she cared for. 

Just as he was nearing dangerous territory, a figure jumped down beside the pair and knocked Daniels away, causing him to plummet to the ground. The figure embodied in a swath of ragged tartan clothing toppled on top of Daniels body, and like a blur, descended a forceful fist upon his face and caused his limbs to go still. 

The man was settled on top of the limp lifeform, and hesitantly turned around to meet Jemma’s eye. His ragged features complemented a set of dark brown eyes and a thick mangled beard that came into full view when he righted his posture and stood up. Jemma struggled to contain a snigger at his height as he barely met the ridge of Jemma’s brow. To Jemma, suddenly the intimidating nature his entrance had enforced has dwindled. Her rescuer looked her up and down, however his way of investigating what had caught Daniel’s attention, was less perverse and held the curiosity that is reflected in Jemma’s own expression. 

He then seemed to make a decision as he grabbed her arm and whispered, 

“This way”

Preferring to not to call for anymore unwanted attention, she let her new companion lead her away through a shrub of leaves and plants. Circling around a large rock, Jemma and her rescuer finally stumbled upon a path. This newfound sense of hope, gave Jemma the courage to finally ask her questions. 

“What is your name?” 

Silence. 

“Hello?” 

Silence.

“Are you going to answer me?” 

A loud gruff is all she managed to receive so she asked a different question. 

“Well will you tell me where on earth are we going?” 

Realising she wasn’t going to get an answer out of him, Jemma decided silence will have to do and try later. Instead she focused on blocking out the foul odours that emitted from him. His visual appearance seemed to match his smell as Jemma was unable to guess how long it is most likely to be for him to have last washed. Trekking through fields and forests until it seemed night had fallen, Jemma was on the brink of exploding with another question to ask. But as she was about to open her mouth, she was interrupted, with two more words out of the mysterious man. 

“We’re here” 

Suddenly, seemingly out of the mist, a stone cottage loomed up ahead. With tight bolted shutters with seemingly no lights on, they approached with the man leading the way up to the door. The stark contrast from the darkness outside to the blaze of fire light that greeted her upon being dragged into the cottage was alarming. It took a minute for her to adjust and take in her surroundings. 

The second sense to hit her was the familiar foul odour of sweat and alcohol that had followed her companion. However, this smell was much stronger. She immediately attributed it to the group of men which were huddled near the fire. They were all staring at her, burning with curiosity. They all sported tartan kilts and mangled beards, eyes roving her barely covered figure. Behind the men, something caught Jemma’s eye. Hidden behind a particularly tubby man, was a man sitting down. This differs from the rest of the men in the room which all stood at her presence. 

“What do ye have here Murtagh?” 

That’s where Jemma recognised the Scottish lilt to his voice. Familiar in this part of the country, she assumes they all have this accent. 

The same stoned-faced man who spoke, came up to her and grabbed her arm to pull her more into the light. Arm still tender from her gash and not wanting to be manhandled again, she stood her ground and yelled, “Get off me!” 

“Ah by her speech, it seems lads that we have a sassenach wench with us today”

Jemma is not surprised by the brief leering glancing she recognises in their eyes. Her dress is torn up her thigh and she is lacking in a bra and anything to substantially cover herself. It seems that amidst her adventures that she has lost her tartan cover, which would maybe even be useful in receiving a warmer reception in this dark and damp cottage.  
Then the men around her start speaking a language she doesn’t know. Jemma is accustomed to learning a new language and finds herself at the age of 27 to be fluent in French and German. However, she finds her adapt ability to pick up something new to be only somewhat useful in trying to work out what they could possibly be saying in their mother tongue. Jemma’s most accurate guess could be the Scottish Gaelic. 

They seem to be discussing something of great importance. Most likely about her, as she can still feel the vice-like grip of the man holding her arm. 

Now that she is closer to the man holding her in his grasp, she can see that he is a bald man with a greying beard and weasel like features. He also seems to be the leader of this band of soldiers. Soldiers most likely, as they all carry around swords and guns, which are glued to their sides. They are most likely the men, which fought against the many red-coats in the forest earlier today. 

Eventually, they stop speaking their mother tongue when the man beside her asked, 

“So lass tell us yer name” 

“Jemma, Jemma Simmons” 

At this the rest of the men came closer and finally the tubby man moved to reveal the man sitting behind him. The first thing that caught her eye was the sandy blonde curls that sat on top of his head. The golden strands caught the flicker of the firelight and Jemma felt like the sun was staring at her directly in this room. Travelling down, she noticed that a set of bright blue eyes were staring at her. Feeling hot under his gaze and her little clothing, Jemma turned away from him to look at the man who asked her name. 

He was silently communicating with the man who brought her here named murtagh, staring intently at him with purpose. That is until he asked a question out loud. 

“Where is it that ye found her?” 

“Aye, she was having words with a certain captain of dragoons; with whom we are acquainted” 

Jemma tensed at the reminder of what she was subjected to, and immediately ducked her head to control her breathing. At a brief glance up, she noticed that the blonde haired man had straightened his posture and was now turned directly towards where she was being interrogated. Now Jemma could see that the man was sporting a bandage that stretched across his chest to his left shoulder, that looked disjointed and seemingly out of place. 

She forgot her previous wandering thoughts, when she picked up what Murtagh said next, 

“It seemed he took her for a whore and tried to have his way with her” 

“Is she a whore?”

At this, Jemma felt anger- and the much need to defend herself from these accusations. 

“I. am. not” 

From the group of nameless men, one spoke and said, “We could put it to the test if you catch my meaning”

Jemma locked her gaze with his and gave him a deadly stare, daring him to say anything else. When her gaze flicked once again to the curly haired highlander, she noticed he rose to his feet at the comment. She could tell by the look he was giving his fellow soldier, that he did not agree and therefore sent heavy daggers at him.

However, to her surprise someone else in the room had an objection to the proposal.  
The man beside her turned around to his companion, “We do not hold with rape here. Do you understand?” 

The nameless man, short and stout cowered at his leaders chastisement and meekly replied, “Yes Dougal” 

Dougal. That was his name. He seemed to be a fair leader, bur Jemma was not ready to entrust herself to these men. She had to work a way to get back to Will.

When Dougal asked her to tell them information about herself, Jemma thought to stick to the truth as much as possible. She answered truthfully about her place of birth: Sheffield, her age: 27 and her name: Jemma Anne Simmons. 

Murtagh seemed to come to her defence, insisting that in his opinion “She is no whore. Not with that proper English lilt” 

“We’ll puzzle out what to do with ye later, but first we must do something for Fitz” he replied. 

At that concluding statement, Dougal and two other men made their way over to the blonde man who had now taken his seat again and was nursing his left arm. In what looked like immense pain.  
She shrank back into the shadows, hoping to avoid any more attention being drawn to her, and watched from afar. Thoughts flitted through her mind that perhaps if their attentions were focused elsewhere, she could slip away unnoticed. 

The wisest course of action, would have been for Jemma to keep her head down and wait for help which no doubt Will, already had on the way for her. However, she watched helplessly as Dougal handed the young man a bottle which she assumed to be alcohol to take the edge off and help the pain. She watched as the two designated men situated themselves behind him and Jemma immediately knew what they were about to do. They were about to push his arm back in place. However, the wrong way. Jemma’s medical mind was screaming to do something and without thinking shouted: 

“Don’t you dare!” 

The men around, stared at her, shocked and mouths agape at the sudden and clearly unwelcome outburst. Jemma strived forward but was met with the two men closest to her, having their swords withdrawn. 

“You’ll break his arm if you do it like that” 

After met with silence and intense glares, she decided to explain herself. 

“You have to get the bone of the upper arm into the correct position before it slips back into joint” 

Finally, the injured man now named as Fitz spoke up and Jemma’s attention was immediately on him. 

“How do you know?” 

Jemma’s skin tingled at his voice. His accent was somewhat different from the others but she couldn’t place it. His voice was a clear indication that he was much younger than the other men here, possibly even her age. Eventually, she realised their eyes were locked on eachother once again, the electricity between them was hot and heavy as she finally replied. 

“I’m a nurse” at the man’s apparent blush that creeped from his neck to his cheeks she realised what they must think. “Not a wet nurse…..a healer. Now if you don’t want his injury to be worse then you will kindly step aside”

Dougal was still staring at her, and she felt uncomfortable at his unwavering gaze until he finally nodded at the two men to stand down and then stepped backwards for her to meet her new patient. 

When Jemma finally stepped into his personal space, she realised she underestimated that intense blue of his eyes. Like a deep blue sea, she felt lost in them and found it difficult to look away towards the injury that actually needed her full attention. She noticed the man sported a scruff to his face. Not as full as the other men’s beards in the room, but still added some years to his features. 

When she finally crouched down and touched his arm, she tried to caress it with a gentle nature but he still tensed at her hands on him and she immediately knew he was in a lot of pain, even from the slightest touch.

She told the men behind him to hold him steady and pushed his arm back into position. Not without the grumpy grunts and reflexes that came with the pain of fixing a dislocated shoulder. She couldn’t help but notice the man never took his eyes off of her as he watched her with such an intensity that it almost made her blush. 

After it was done, he looked at her with a surprised expression and murmured to her, “Thank ye lass, it doesn't hurt anymore” with a broad grin and a look of relief stretched across his face.

To which she only replied, “it will hurt, it will be tender for about a week. You mustn't move the joint for 2-3 days and when you begin to use it again, be very careful and move slowly at first. You must stop at once when it hurts and apply warm compresses daily” 

She then acquired the belts of two of the men, with much protesting and suggestive glances, finally creating a makeshift sling and treating the curious patient, ending with a question of how it feels. 

To which the man replied with a charming smirk, “yeah better”

Dougal seemed pleased with the outcome and was next to speak as he addressed Fitz.

“Can ye ride lad?”

“Aye, I can”

“Good because we still have a bit to go before we reach home. We’re leaving” 

Jemma didn’t know what that meant for her but by the way Murtagh was ushering her away from Fitz and outside of the stone cottage, she knew that she was going with them. When she stepped outside she was met with a light rain and darkness. 

That’s when she stopped and looked out into the distance. There is nothing but darkness. How is that possible? She took a step forward and felt her whole body vibrate with shock. Where there was once the city lights of Inverness in the far distance, instead there was the black of night. And as much as Jemma’s rational mind rebelled against the thought. She knew she couldn’t deny it anymore. She was not in her own time of the 20th Century. 

**** 

The pain was better. He wasn’t sure how the woman did it but Fitz found his arm did not hurt as much to move it. But he forgot his newfound joy at his now lessened pain as he looked at the distraught expression of his saviour. 

He watched as Dougal broke her out of her trance and dragged her over to where Fitz was now sitting upon his horse. Soon he realised what Dougal intended, as he most likely whispered a threat in her ear and hoisted her up onto the horse in front of him. 

He instinctively extended his one good arm to catch her as she was not-so elegantly thrown up and expected to stay on. Without thought he wrapped his good arm around her waist and grabbed the reins, inevitably tugging her against his chest. Fitz knew he was not the tallest man in the world but he hoped that he could offer the mysterious woman named Jemma some comfort by cradling her against his body for warmth. 

“Christ woman, you’re freezing” 

“I assure you I’m fine” 

Fitz did not believe her for a second. Her thin cotton shift, gave her no warmth and was soaked through with rain. Her hair that perfectly framed delicate features ran just below her shoulders and was being surated by rainwater and uncomfortably clinging to her. However, the amazing thing that confused Fitz was that, even though she looked like she had experienced hell. She still looked beautiful. To Fitz’s amusement; she was a classic beauty with a fiery personality and even though they had not known each other long. She intrigued him. Therefore, he didn’t hesitate to wrap a cocoon of warmth around the both of them with his brown woolen blanket stretched out to cover her as well as him. And if it just so happened to bring him closer to her physically; well he wouldn’t dare complain. 

“That’s really not necessary, you need it more than me, you’re injured”

“Hush now, you’re shaking so hard, you’re making my teeth rattle. Plus you’re my saviour, this is my repayment for shushing my whiny mouth” 

“Do you know where we’re going?” 

“Why Castle Leoch of course”


	2. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to castle Leoch has some complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So online school for NI has started this week and I have tried to find my footing in that. That is why this chapter has taken so long. I want to write more of this story, before I post again so I can refine in which direction I want it to go. It may take a while for me to post again but I will don't worry. I'm so happy that the first chapter wasn't hated and was well-received and loved writing this chapter. Please be aware this is my first fic and is unbeta'd.

**_“Well? Was that museum to your satisfaction? Are you Happy?”_ **

**_“Yes Will, very happy. Reverend Wakefield was lovely”_ **

**_“Surely we didn’t have to take the long route back then, just to look at some silly rock”_ **

**_“It’s the scenic route, much more pleasing to the eye. Now, we’re nearly about to drive past it”_ **

**_Will and Jemma had just spent the day at a small Highland Archive which was run solely by the local Minster Reverend Reginald Wakefield, an amateur historian who enlightened the young couple, of the various historical sites that were significant in the Jacobite uprisings, in the 17th Century. Jemma felt terrible to admit that this time of reconnection for her and Will, was being used to indulge in her passion for history and Scotland as a whole._ **

**_Jemma’s affection for history, combined with Will’s newfound interest in his personal genealogy was a cause for the Scottish Highlands to be a place for their holliday. However, Jemma held a soft spot for Inverness and Perthsire in particular. One is due to historical significance, the other holds sentimental value. It takes Jemma back to the time before the war when her Uncle Coulson and Auntie May would take her on small holidays to this petite cottage that embodied her childhood happiness and taught her about the stars._ **

**_Jemma was taken in and raised by her godparents Uncle Coulson and Aunt May after the unfortunate death of her parents at a young age. They took up a home in Sheffield and were noted as a peculiar couple who had keen interest in academics and in particular archeology. This meant when Jemma showed promise at a young age to be incredibly smart, they nutured her natural intellect, encouraged Jemma to forward her academic career and study science. In the end they funded Jemma’s tuition. At least the tuition available to women at the time._ **

**_Zipping through the road that winded through the highland moors, Jemma kept scanning the Ridgeline of the hills, looking for the famous jagged spike until she finally spotted it._ **

  
  


**_“See up there, on the top there. That’s Cocknammon Rock. In the 17th and 18th Century, you would have often found British army patrol stationed up there specifically to utilise the high ground and lay in ambush for Scottish rebels or brigands. It was a wonderful thing really, as you can see it commands the high ground in every direction and was the perfect place for an ambush”_ **

***********

The journey to castle leoch was horrendous. They rode all day and all night, without stopping for a rest. Not even to accommodate for the injured Mr. Fitz who was currently situated on the horse, close behind Jemma. Very close. He was in complete control of the reigns. Which were located tantalisingly in front of Jemma, almost inviting her to employ one stealthy snatch of the steering right out of his hands and she could turn this horse around and gallop back to Craigh Na Dun. Back home to Will. Never did she think that not too long ago she was on a relaxing holiday with him, in a warm comfy bed and a beautiful view. Now she finds herself with a sore bottom and a cotton dress that was once white but is now a horrible brown colour. However, the more she thinks about her possible escape she realises she would be kidnapping Mr. Fitz and forcing him to come with her and spend another 2 days on horseback. Inevitably separating him from his companions. 

Although with even  _ more _ thought and consideration, Jemma came to the conclusion that her commandeering of a horse and riding away was in poor judgement- and simply, she was not the best at riding horses. 

She thought that steering would best be left to the solid weight of a body behind her, who even with one working arm was captaining and navigating across rivers and moorland with ease and gentleness that Jemma could only appreciate. 

Jemma couldn’t help but notice that his body was like a transportable furnace that was constantly burning ablaze through the cotton on her back. She couldn’t help but lean back and encompass more of his heat for herself. And she refused to acknowledge that she felt his solid, muscular arm bring her more against his chest. She wouldn’t complain, especially when she has been in nothing but a thin cotton dress for the last three days. 

Her limbs had almost gone numb to the highland chill, but nothing compared to the numbness of her mind which is nearly rotting without the much needed stimulation that an intellectual conversation can bring. However, Jemma had decided that silence was the best option when dealing with these strange men.

And even the blonde Scot behind her was very quiet, apart the occasional confirmations that she was okay and not too uncomfortable. She was sure that even he was distrustful of her, but she still appreciated the sentiment that he didn’t hate her too much. Or at least she hoped. 

On her journey, Jemma opted for avoidance of turning around to look behind her, at Mr. Fitz. Instead she chose to look at her surroundings and map the terrain, in hopes of finding anything that held any sort of resemblance or identifiable feature. 

She was getting Deja Vu when she found herself scanning the Ridgeline of a familiar hill. 

Certainly not. 

_ Jesus. H Roosevelt Christ.  _

She turned slightly to address Fitz behind her. 

“I know this place.” 

“Been here before have you?” 

“yes”

She has to tell them now. 

“Out behind that jagged rock. The one that looks like a cock’s tail, it has a name.”

‘Aye?” 

“Cocknammon Rock”

“Clach a’ Choillich” Fitz echoed slightly lower to himself. 

“The English, they use it for ambush. They could be lying in wait right now” 

“It is a bonny place for an ambush, right enough” 

And the next thing Jemma knew, their horse had galloped to the front of the group where the weasel-like man named Dougal was leading their expedition. 

When they reached the side of his horse and Fitz had finally caught his attention, the two men reverted back to the hushed whispers in their mother tongue. Jemma knew they were talking about what she had just said and for a moment she wished she hadn’t said anything. She could be wrong and these men were not in danger of being attacked. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with questions on why she knows this. She just drew attention to herself and opened herself more to suspicions about her being an English spy. 

It looks like her thoughts were correct as Fitz beside her gave a pointed look in her direction to Dougal, clearly informing him where this information came from. 

Finally Dougal asked, “Now, you’ll be telling me exactly how and why you come to know there is an ambush up ahead” 

She knew she had nothing to say that wouldn’t be suspicious.

“I don’t know, but I heard the redcoats use Cocknammon ro-“

“Where did you hear?” Dougal interrupted.

Jemma has never been a good liar and even though she hasn’t been in Dougal’s presence for long. She is sure he can tell that she is not telling the truth. It is clear in the way his eyes narrow at her and rake over her, assessing what kind of threat she is. She can only imagine the proper interrogation she will be subject to when they finally reach this mysterious castle Leoch. So now she just has to bide her time and make it out of this alive

Jemma replied “In the village” 

Of course Jemma wasn’t entirely sure of what village to say her knowledge is from and she can only hope he doesn’t pry further. 

Thankfully he doesn’t. Dougal seems to take her information seriously and assesses the surroundings, eyes sweeping methodically across the terrain and trees which were not here in 1946. Which of course, further adds to the advantages for an ambush. 

All of a sudden he throws a gesture in the air and with a single word, Dougal signals to the rest of his men who immediately take off into a gallop. 

Fitz then rips off his sling and urges Jemma off the horse. This of course took Jemma by surprise as she hurdled to the ground and barely caught Fitz yelling for her to stay hidden. She rolled into a bush and was inches away from falling into the river that they were seemingly following. 

The men then took off on their horses and Jemma decided to follow Fitz’s warning and lay flat on the ground, hiding under a fern plant. 

Suddenly an overwhelming amount of senses were plaguing Jemma as she could hear the sound of musket fire, taste the earth in her mouth from her fall, smell the musket’s smoke, feel the gash in her arms bleeding heavily again from the impact and could see the men she was just with riding off to fight. Now was her chance. 

Without a second's hesitation she ran off in the opposite direction and scrambled down small hills and trees to get as far away from the fighting as she could. Hopefully, finally escape unwanted clutches of men. 

At this point she was just wandering. She didn’t know where she was and which direction to go, other than the one away from gunfire. 

She had just rounded a tree when she saw a familiar head of blonde curls gallop towards her, causing her to stop dead in her tracks. However, there was something odd about the colour of his hair. It was stained red with blood. 

“Lost your way?” He said, clearly aware of the fact that she had just tried to escape. 

He gathered her stand-offish stance and hopped down from his horse. That was when she gauged the rest of his appearance. Down his lined shirt was streaks of blood, coating it from collar to kilt and gone was his sling. His once bundled arm was now brandishing a sword and Jemma suddenly felt very nervous.

“I hope you haven’t been misusing that shoulder, you’re hurt” she said in a rebuking voice.

Then he said which she had only slightly suspected, “ Tis not my blood, not much of it anyway” 

That didn’t settle her nerves at all. 

He had been eyeing her this whole time; like she was about to run any second. And she was.

She faked a step and he reacted. He took a step too. This was now a game of who will make the first move.

“Dougal and the others are waiting further up the stream. So would you mind coming with me. It’s not safe here. We should go” 

“I'm NOT going with you” 

“Oh yes you are” 

Jemma dared to ask, “So what? You’re going to cut my throat if I don’t” 

“No. But. You don’t look that heavy. I'm not the tallest but if you don’t walk I will be forced to throw you over my shoulder. Now do you want me to do that?” He said while quickly grabbing her arm and pulling her towards him. 

Feeling frustrated by the slightly smug and flirty look on his face, Jemma yanked her arm out of his hand and pushed her face closer to his. She desperately tried to appear intimidating while simultaneously attempting to tamper the butterflies in her stomach as she once again took in the blue of his eyes. 

“No” she said emphatically 

“Well then. It looks like you will be coming with me” 

Just then Jemma let slip the self restraint as she felt her gut swoop slightly at the smug expression on his face. So many emotions were flitting through her at the moment. She had never felt so magnetized to someone before. Even when she didn’t really want to go with him. She couldn’t help but feel the tension between them. She refused to acknowledge it. She refused to give in.

Jemma then finally walked away from him with determination of not giving him the satisfaction of lifting her onto the horse so she struggled up and then they were off. 

They were making their way up the stream and Jemma couldn’t help but notice the grunts of pain which were being huffed into her ear as Fitz tried to hold the reins. Jemma was going to give him no sympathy.

“Serves you right. You’ve probably torn your muscles as well as bruising” 

“well, there wasne much of a choice. If I didn’t move my shoulder. I would have never moved anything else again”

Just as they met the group he spoke again. 

“I can handle a single redcoat with one hand, maybe even two. Not three.” 

Jemma turned to look at him this time. His face was very close to hers and she could feel his breath skim her cheeks. His gaze locked into hers as he spoke again cheekily. 

“Besides when we get to where we are going, you can fix it again for me” 

“Hm. That’s what you think.” 

When they were near enough to hear the other men, they gave Jemma a cheeky thanks and offered her a drink which she was an invitation she was tempted to accept. 

Then she felt the rumble of her empty stomach reverberate throughout her entire body and realised it might not fill her but it might take the edge off of what had been a nightmare of the last 2 days. So she grumbly accepted to the amusement of Ftiz who watched her down the shared flask with vigor and took a swig after her. 

Once she was done, she had locked eyes with Dougal who was staring intently at her. She expected him to say something about what had just happened and about the fact that she knew sensitive information about the British army. But instead he signalled for the group to move out, which meant she was safe for the moment. 

It had just been nearing dark when the solid body behind Jemma started to sway and tip unevenly off the horse. Jemma knew immediately that Fitz was going down. 

She called to the men in front, “Stop! Help he’s going over!” As Fitz finally collapsed onto the cold hard ground, seemingly unconscious. 

Jemma scrambled after him, shouting orders to the other men to help her get him up. Her brain immediately switched back into doctor mode as she checked his breathing and checked his body for physical harm. 

What Jemma found was a gunshot wound- and as she assessed the injury she found herself falling into old habits as she called out vital information regarding the state of her patient’s  _ second injury  _ to the men who were huddled around the two of them. She was sure they didn’t understand what she was saying but knew there was no point in trying to explain. 

“The idiot could have said something- it's a clean exit, the round must have gone straight through the muscle. I don’t think it’s serious but he has lost a lot of blood. It’ll need to be disinfected before I can dress it properly.”

The man named murtagh spoke up. The one who saved her from Daniels. 

“Disinfect?” 

_ Blast. She forgot she was talking to 17th Century highlanders who haven’t heard of cleanliness. _

Slightly exasperated Jemma replied, “yes it must be cleaned of dirt to protect it from germs.” 

“Germs? What are germs? 

Even more frustrated Jemma attempted to move past that. 

“Just get me some iodine.” 

They all stood and stared at her blankly. 

A smaller one spoke, “Get me she says.” And scoffed.

“Merthiolate?”

Expressions increased in confusion and they all exchanged glances. No doubt wondering about her level of sanity. Maybe she had to speak in their language…

“ Alcohol?”

This familiar word received nods of understanding and multiple of the men reaching into their sacks and bringing out various leather flasks. She should have known, considering the smell of alcohol followed these men like a bad omen. 

When she was finally handed a flask, she disregarded her hesitations and poured the substance on his wound, causing the young man to violently shift awake from the pain. He shot up like a bolt and based on the intonation Jemma would not be surprised if the Gaelic that came out of his mouth was a swear most likely. 

“Welcome back” 

Ftiz gaze immediately fell on her and she stiffened slightly, but did not hesitate to admonish him for his foolish behaviour of hiding his injury.

“I'm alright, it’s not that ba-“ 

“No you’re not alright. Couldn’t you tell how bad you were bleeding! You are lucky you’re not dead! Fighting and flying you way off horses.” Jemma cut in. 

Done with her telling off, Jemma then turned around and asked for sterile bandages. Once again she was met with more blank, confused stares and finally felt the tip of her annoyance coming out. 

“Jesus. H Roosevelt Christ!” She murmured aggressively as she ripped the bottom of her cotton shift. Unwilling to feel shame or bashful, for doing this in front of a group of men. 

She created her makeshift bandages and soaked them in alcohol to fully sterilize them to clean his wound, warning him to hold still at the same time. 

When she tried to wrap his shoulder in another sling she let out a series of profanities when the cotton rags were unwilling to cooperate. It would be an understatement to say they were shocked. 

“I've never heard a woman use such language in my life.” Dougal said. 

At this Jemma scoffed. 

“We still have another 15 miles to go yet. Can ye ride?”

“Aye I can” 

“Okay. We will stay long enough to dress his wound but then we must be off”

“ He needs rest!” 

Dougal paid her comments no attention and turned his back to her, walking away. 

“Daniels.” Fitz said to her. 

Jemmed stopped at the name. Every cell in her body froze. 

“The man you encountered. He will not stop. He won’t give up so easily. Y’know he commands the redcoats here abouts. In charge of patrols and such. So we canny stay here for long lass. I’ll be fine. Don’t fret” 

The two met eyes for what must be the thousandths time as she saw the sincerity in his iris’. She knew she had to ask. 

“You know Daniels? Black Jack Daniels that is. Maveth?” 

In response he simply lowered his head and, breaking their heated gaze, whispered bokenly, “Aye. I do.” 

“Ill not risk you….. or anyone else being taken prisoner by that man” 

“Thank you Fitz. Though you might have well told me you had been shot before you fell off the horse. 

“Now where is the fun in that? Keep you on your toes.” 

Jemma scoffed and finally stood. 

“Well that’s about all I can do. The rest is up to you.” 

She extended her hand out to help him up but was not expecting the tingle of electricity that flowed through her arm and her entire body. With a single touch she felt like every nerve was on end and she was covered in goosebumps. 

When he was on his feet, he staggered slightly towards her and ended up catching himself in her waist. Not pulling away immediately, his eyes darted down to her lips and she turned her head away slightly; feeling slightly uncomfortable with the tension. Then she heard him whisper to her, 

“Thank you Sassenach.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading if you're still here! Let me know if this is awful aha.

**Author's Note:**

> If you read this Thank you so much!


End file.
